It doesn't take long to begin to decipher what your newborn baby's cries mean. Lamb-like quivering cries mean, "I'm hungry." Sudden red-faced squawking means, "My diaper's wet." Relentless screaming with tight fists means, "My tummy hurts." Thankfully, as babies grow, it becomes much easier to understand the messages. Cries are replaced by noises, sounds, reaching for objects and food, and then eventually -- words.
I think God planned it this way because parents wouldn't be able to take it if crying were the only form of communication for years on end. We would go crazy and eventually pack up and leave our children with no forwarding address. As babies grow to be toddlers, crying still happens, but mostly to voice frustration. We teach our children words so they can tell us things like, "Mommy, I'm sick." This is a clue to scoop up your toddler and run to the bathroom as fast as you can.
I speak from experience here. In 1994 the flu spread through our household like the plague in Babylon. Everyone got it, including my husband who hadn't thrown up since the first episode of "Leave It To Beaver" in 1958. It was the kind of flu that laid you out flat - full-on 102-degree fever with sweats, and everything coming out of both ends. The kind you get once a decade and then hope and pray you never get again.
From the time my oldest daughter brought it home from a sleepover along with leftover, cold pizza, I was watching the kids like a hawk. After the two older were hit with it, my four-year-old came down with a slight cough and pink chubby cheeks -- pinker than usual. So, I decided to put her on the "observation list." It was my son I was most worried about because he had not yet had flu as a walking, talking toddler. I was in the dark ... I had no idea what his verbal cues were that he might be about to throw up, so I watched him like the dog watching the mailman.
Around 2 a.m. on the second night of project puke watch, it happened. My three-year-old son appeared at my bedside crying and rubbing his eyes. Having been on high alert for days, I didn't even hesitate. I jumped right into action. Without missing a beat, I threw back the covers, jumped out of bed and scooped him up like a lifeguard saving a kid from a splash zone. I ran for the nearest bathroom. By the time we got to the toilet, he was in a full-on scream. I threw the seat up with my left hand and put his face about 10 inches from the toilet bowl. Somehow, I composed myself and found my non-panicky Mommy voice, "It's OK baby, Mommy's here," I soothed as I patted his back. By this time, he was gasping for air and sobbing. I looked at his red face and then back to the toilet water, "Where the vomit?" I thought. "Are you OK, baby?" When he was able to catch his breath after several minutes the little guy spoke up with a scratchy voice, "I just want a drink of water."
Wow. Was I off my game tonight. I fetched his water and tucked him back in bed, feeling like the worst mother in the world. The poor kid just wanted a drink of water and there I was nearly hanging him upside-down by the ankles almost forcing him to puke. I was certain I'd traumatized him for life. Thank God kids are resilient.
That night I learned the important lesson of trying to understand your child . Whether you're dealing with a crying three-year-old in the middle of the night or a frustrated 10-year-old who cannot find her homework - do not assume anything. It’s the only way to avoid staring into an empty toilet in the middle of the night wondering where the vomit is.
Shelli Netko 2008 ©
Add comment
Comments